gloomy forecasts of the Astrologer and wise men. That a Greylock should
go through life without the white curl was unheard of, was awful! And
the old nurse called the poor little creature, "an ill-starred child, a
dear pitiable princeling."

Then the mother recalled her last dream, in which she had seen a dragon
attack her youngest boy. A great fear possessed her heart, and she bade
them bring the child to her. When they laid him naked before her, she
stroked the little round body, the straight back, and well-shaped legs
with her weak hands, and felt comforted. He was a beautifully-formed,
well-developed child, her child, her very own, and nothing was lacking
save the grey lock. She never wearied of looking at him; at last she
leaned over him and whispered: "You sweet little darling, you are just
as good, and just as much of a Greylock as your brother. He will be
duke, but that is no great piece of luck, and we will not begrudge it to
him. His subjects will some day give him enough anxiety. He must grow
to be a mighty man for their sakes, and I doubt not that his nurse gives
him better nourishment to that end than I could who am only a weak woman.
But you, you poor, dear, little ill-omened mite, I shall nourish you
myself, and if your life is unhappy it shall not be because I have not
done my best."

When the Chief Priest came to her, to ask her what name she had chosen
for the second boy--the first, of course, was to be Wendelin XVI--she
remembered her dream, and answered quickly: "Let him be named George,
for it was he who killed the dragon."

The old man understood her meaning, and answered earnestly: "That is a
good name for him."